


take my hope away

by peculiar_mademoiselle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Grief/Mourning, Post-Barricade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_mademoiselle/pseuds/peculiar_mademoiselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>grief is an odd thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my hope away

Grief is an odd thing.

Sometimes it hits you sharply, like a needle, or a dagger. And sometimes it’s like being wrapped tightly in cotton, or pushed from a concrete step; not pain so much as a choking emptiness and nausea. Some would even say that loss and it’s aftermath are far worse than any physical illness. A woman currently drowning in these emotions would agree, but almost smiled when thinking about how one of her great loves would digress. Unfortunately the thought of the worrisome yet kind hearted man only made her heart ache more, and she fell to her knees. 

She was in the once shared apartment, her head leaning on a wall that laughter used to echo against. Tears felt warm against her cheeks, and she could scarcely believe that she hadn’t shrivelled up like a prune – with the length of time she’d been crying. 

However she’d not cried when she’d initially woken up that morning, her large bed unnaturally cold, and the dawn unnaturally quiet. 

Even when she’d gone to identify the bodies, she’d felt like a stranger looking upon another woman, who shakily pointed to a youthful man with messy hair and a handsome man with none. It wasn’t until she got home and tripped on the door lip and no one came running to kiss her scraped knee better that something snapped within her. To lose part of one’s heart is terrible. To have had to share all of it out between more than one man and lose it all is indescribable. 

Part of her had wanted to run back to the site of the barricade, pin a bright cockade to her faded navy dress, and allow the National Guard to lay her down to sleep with her boys. 

They looked so peaceful upon the stones, and she wished she could rest with them.

Although in her minds eye, she could see their disappointed faces, and it kept her fixed to the spot. 

She tried not to think of a time when their faces would fade, and she would not be able to pin point exactly how Joly’s eyes creased when he laughed, or exactly how Bossuet’s lips quirked when he admired the medical student when he did so. 

But yes, grief is horrid thing, like being doused in acid and suffocated by a pillow.

Although Musichetta was oddly grateful for it right now, because it meant she could remember them in perfect clarity for a little longer – agony or no.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.


End file.
